Students in the Bronx after-school program I work with informed me that mother’s day was coming up. I would have had no idea. I’m sure Facebook will tell me the day of, but it should tell me with enough time to hook mi madre up with a box of eccentric awesomeness that seeks and delivers a holy marmot manure! surprised face. My iPhone didn’t tell me either.
Come on guys. Step up your game. I ditched paper calendars for you, and at least with a paper calendar I would look at months as unified tracks of time and was aware of the upcoming holidays, since sometimes these involve revelry and time off work. Please Facebook/Twitter/iPhone/Internet/Friendster/Google/Usenet/Friends/People-not-just-in-fifth-grade and gophers, tell me about these things ahead of time. I warn you. I will go back to paper calendars and I know how much you guys love trees.
Anyways, kids in the program: They skills with empty bottles of Nesquik milk like, as they would put it, like “nobodies business.” A video speaks 10,000 crescendoing words.
Here’s what I mean:
Seriously. I go to lengths to try to get these kids to understand the concept of a semi-colon, but they can sing to the rhythm of a ridiculously coordinated Nesquik bottle chorus which step dances on their desks. (PS, Nestle Co. Google Alert, yes, we would love your corporate sponsorship for this 501C3 program that is giving kids in the Bronx the music and language education that the school district in the area lacks).
The program, Highbridge Voices, rounds off their education by giving them academic resources they would not otherwise have. It also gives them something to do after school other than get in unsupervised trouble.
One part of that education has led to students who think openly and intelligently about race issues. Most of the kids are of African or Hispanic decent. But are, in a sense blind to race, and unbiased and not politically correct in the way that that adults can learn from kids.
This manifests itself in various ways. One day, one of the students asked me to write the number seven. Because my penmanship is as legible as script rendered by poorly trained billy goats, I always cross the seven to distinguish it from a my ones (which look like miniature leaning towers).
“Where’d you learn that,” the fourth grader asked me, “White people school?”
She had another white teacher her wrote her sevens the same way.
You should see my Zs I thought…
On another occasion I high-fived a fifth grade girl who had memorized the last ten presidents and told her that would be a good skill for her if she becomes the first African American female president.
“By that time,” she said, “I’ll be the second black girl president.”
I think by then we’ll be in a good position to elect someone with such a background and advocate like Highbridge Voices on her side. You can check out more videos here.
